


It's Not Hand Reading

by Flammenkobold



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hand Kisses, Happy Ending, Infected Characters, M/M, Undercover, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:41:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22150477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flammenkobold/pseuds/Flammenkobold
Summary: “So what gave it away?” "Your hands are too soft, no one would believe you did menial work all your life."Wilde nearly blends in on undercover missions, or three times Zolf held his hand for reasons.
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 5
Kudos: 85





	It's Not Hand Reading

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miri1984](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri1984/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, Miri!

The first time they try this ruse, Wilde nearly blends in seamlessly. Nearly. He dresses plainly, foregoes any signs of wealth or status, twists his accent and laughter just right. And yet.

A good thing this was a test run.

“So what gave it away?” Wilde asks him after, and Zolf huffs out a laugh.

“You really can’t tell?”

“That’s why I’m asking you.”

So Zolf reaches over and grasps one of Wilde’s hands in his own, before he can think about the gesture. “They’re too soft, no one with an ounce of observation would believe you did menial work all your life.”

Wilde runs a thumb over the back of his hand, small secretive smile playing over his lips. “Maybe you can help me roughen them up a bit.”

Zolf lets out a long suffering sigh and lets go of Wilde’s hand.

\---

It’s the last time Wilde flirts with him like this. Sometimes he misses it.

\---

The next time goes a lot better. Until it doesn’t. Which isn’t down to Wilde or his hands to be fair.

They end up in an alleyway, hidden between several houses and Wilde is in front of him, casting illusions. He is good at it, but those guys grew up here and if only one of them notices that something is off…

Once Wilde finishes singing quietly, Zolf grabs his hand and pulls him back. “Get behind me,” he hisses, and Wilde acquiesces. They stand there for a few tense seconds, Zolf still not having let go of his hand and Wilde making no attempts to remove it either, when Zolf notices.

“Did you glamour your hands?” Zolf asks quietly and incredulously.

“I don’t think this is the time for that conversation,” Wilde whispers back at him, leaning forward to peer over Zolf’s head. A few seconds later it really isn’t the time.

\---

A few months later Wilde doesn’t need to use glamour, the state of the world saw to that. Zolf never quite knows how he feels about that.

\---

Wilde is pale on the washed out grey blankets of the bed don’t help his complexion at all. His eyes are closed and sunken and if it weren’t for the way his breast rises and falls rhythmically, he might’ve looked dead.

But he’s alive and he’s here in safety and the blue veins have receded fully. 

He hasn’t woken up yet, one of the last of the infected to still do. Zolf has been at his bedside every day since they recovered him. It’s not much he can do, aside from wait and not get in the nurses way, and talk. Talking apparently helps, which it not something Zolf is good at and wishes Hamid were here. But Hamid has his family to take care of. Azu is busy helping wherever she can, but makes an effort to come in for a minute or two every evening anyway. Cel has returned to their home, rebuilding of what’s left of the village. So Zolf talks haltingly, about nothing and everything.

One of the nurses finally suggest that he can also read something if that’s easier for him, and Zolf feels a bit like an idiot but thankful for her consideration.

“Is that Cambell?” is the first thing Wilde says, affronted.

Zolf nearly drops the book. 

“Knew that could bring you back from the dead,” he says, blinking away the tears stinging in his eyes.

“I wasn’t dead,” he says, still sounding so weak, and groans in pain as he tries to sit up. “Just feel like I might be.”

Zolf grasps his hand in his and squeezes it. “Hold still for a second, I’m getting a nurse.” Or he would if Wilde let go for a second. 

“Aren’t you enough, and here I thought you were happy to see me awake.”

“I’m a cleric,” Zolf points out, which quite frankly is something he forgot for a second. Not that being a cleric helped him much when the infection crawled through Oscar’s system. Didn’t help him either in noticing the change until it nearly got the others killed as well, with Wilde nearly blending in perfectly into his role even when not himself.

Oscar hums tiredly.

Zolf lifts his hand to his mouth, Oscar’s fingers still rough and calloused. He presses a kiss to the back of it, channels some of his divine healing into him. 

“And I am.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [It's Not Hand Reading [podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24444727) by [KD reads (KDHeart)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KDHeart/pseuds/KD%20reads), [Sarshi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarshi/pseuds/Sarshi)




End file.
